


The Boys Of Baker Street High

by Solomon95



Series: The Boys Of Baker Street High [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solomon95/pseuds/Solomon95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Highschool AU in which John recounts his adventures and shenanigans with the eccentric and shady Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

School resumed on a peculiarly warm February morning.  
Students rushed to their home rooms, teachers drudging along behind them. Among the chaos of organized education, a young man stood surveying the scene in utter despair.

One John Watson, a short boy with a mop of mousy brown hair atop his head, had only just arrived at his new school and already, it seemed he was out of place.

Looking about for help, he spotted several teachers around, unfortunately they did not sight him, short as he was. The throng around him began to dissipate rapidly and before the poor lad knew it, the corridor was almost empty…

Almost.

"So, is military school as brutal as they make it out to be?" A smooth voice inquired from behind John.

Spinning, John found himself facing a tall, raven haired boy in a long coat. The other lad’s ice blue eyes flicked from John’s own, to his feet, shirt, then his face once more.

"Well?" The young man asked, a single thin brow lifting.

"How did you know I went to military school?" John counters, well aware that no teacher would share that with a student.

"I didn’t, not really, but you just confirmed the most likely situation." The black haired youth drawled, as though explaining maths to a toddler.

"How’s that work then?" John demanded.

"Your posture is rigid, straight. As though standing at attention comes naturally to you, then there’s the uniform, ironed, pressed and worn with the shirt tucked in. Shoes polished, hair combed, buttons all done up and that funny look on your face." The boy smiled. "Like you’re waiting for orders."

John stood, flabbergasted. 

"No one could notice all that and go "He’s a military student." They’d be either recruited or locked up!" John affirmed.

"I’d like to see them try, on both counts." The taller boy smirked, before thrusting out his hand. "The name’s Holmes, Sherlock Holmes."

"Pleased to meet you, I’m John Watson." John replied, ever the gentleman.

"Well, the office is that way mate." Sherlock said, gesturing down the hall.

"Office?" John queried, frowning in confusion.

"I assume you’ll want to get to home room on the double soldier boy. The ladies at the office’ll tell you where to go." Sherlock stated, turning on his heel and striding off.

"Where are you going!?” John called.

"Oh, I was thinking I’d give the professor a head start, save him the trouble of dealing with me for a couple more minutes. Welcome to Baker Street High, Watson!" Sherlock shouted back, his voice residing into the distance.

John wouldn’t know until later of course, but that was the moment he set about forging a marvelous friendship with the most interesting, and broken, of all Baker Street's students.


	2. A Scandal In Student Council (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides to rope John into the odd case of a student president and her already flailing career in politics and scandal.

It was John's third day at Baker Street High, he had only rarely seen Sherlock, a glimpse of his distinctive coat or a flash of his mocking grin from the back of the social studies classroom.

This made it all the stranger when Sherlock dragged him into an empty classroom. 

"What the hell!" John shouted in surprise.

"Steady on mate. I just wanted to know your opinion on polaroid cameras?" Sherlock stated calmly, a single eyebrow rising steadily.

"Polaroid? Like the instant photo thingies?" John stuttered, a look of profound confusion settling on his features.

"No, like the Polish steroids, of course the photos!" Sherlock shot back, beginning to pace the length of the room, running his fingers excitedly through his hair.

"Umm, they're cool, I guess?" John offered, unsure of why they were talking about a camera brand.

"Well, one of the student council is in a rather uncomfortable spot because of them. They received a rather compromising set of photographs with a single phrase written on the back of each. There are more." Sherlock confided, an amused look upon his face.

"How unfortunate for them... Why are you telling me this?" John asked, struggling to follow the conversation.

"They've asked me to look into where the photos came from, find out why they're being targeted." Sherlock stated matter of factly, waving his hand as though to dismiss the topic.

"Do that often then? Play the detective like this?" John inquired, still uncertain as to why Sherlock was confiding in him.

"I do, and now, so do you." Sherlock answered, without a moment of hesitation.

"Woah, time out there, loony town mayor. Why would I do that?" John demanded, not comprehending Sherlock's path of reasoning.

Sherlock shrugged. "Have you got anything better to do? No? Then, my dear Watson, the game is afoot!" 

With that edict still lingering in the air, Sherlock spun on his heel and left the room, his determined stride faltering for a split second before John gave in to curiosity and began to follow.

Sherlock led them to the back of the school gym, where the basketball team were practicing three pointers. Two of the players detached from the group, intercepting the boys.

"Well, well. Looks like the freak got himself a new sidekick!" The taller of the two crowed, a predatory smile on his face.

"Ah, so the witty banter begins..." Sherlock sighed, a resigned look settling over his face. "How about we end this quickly?" 

"Sounds fair, do you want the beating now, or now?" The second player demanded, grabbing the front of Sherlock's coat.

"Now you listen to me freak. I've told you not to come in here during prac-" The taller boy's tirade was cut short by the slightly uncomfortable position of John's fist planted squarely against his jaw.

"Oh, shut up." John snapped. "I've got better things I could be doing than listening to some prat, piping on about a whole heap of bullshit."

John stepped towards the other player, who let go of Sherlock as fast as his hand would allow, staggering back in a hurry. Sherlock blinked, bushed his coat, as though to remove dirt from it, then nodded to himself, ever so slightly.

"Well, now that's concluded, we had better move on to our prior engagement." Sherlock said briskly, stepping forwards with far more liveliness than before, John following quickly.

"Why was he so pissed at you?" John wondered aloud, sure that no random bully would act with such pointed intent.

"Oh, I was the one that told him about his father's affair." Sherlock declared flippantly. 

"How did you know?" John asked, curious.

"His father is a banker, yet he left the house, of which I live across from, at wildly irregular times, odd for a man who's commute to work was less then five minutes. His suit would change sometimes as well, nothing overly noticeable, a different shade of grey, pinstripes on his tie changing direction, a spot of lipstick on his collar. After a few weeks of this, I decided that I should tell Richard, the roid monkey over yonder, that his father was not so faithful as he claimed." Sherlock's explanation provided more questions then answers, John needed to know one in particular.

"How did he react?" John inquired.

"I don't remember much of it, but I'm told my blood made a lovely accessory for his fist." Sherlock quipped, absently rubbing his cheek.

Moving to the back of the gym, Sherlock stopped in front of a janitor's closet, the door had a single line written in black marker upon it's face.

You see, but you do not observe.

"An educated form of graffiti right there." John admired, gesturing to the script.

"Oh, absolutely brilliant in my opinion, in fact, I know the artist personally, very bright." Sherlock acknowledged.

"Very bright, huh?" John hedged.

"Oh, I'd go so far as to say a genius." Sherlock added.

"You wrote it didn't you?" John sighed.

"I'm not saying I didn't." Sherlock said slowly.

"You're a prat." John muttered through his grin.

Sherlock smirked at him, before opening the door in question. Inside, the "closet" was more a supply room, spacious, with a desk at one end and a shabby sofa at the other. A plaque on the desk read "Sherlock Holmes P.I."

"I rent this space from the janitors, they have about ten supply closets through out the school, this one just happens to never be used." Sherlock informed John, a look of pride spreading over his face.

"What do you pay the rent with, liquid soap?" John questioned, unsure of the student/janitor politics.

"He doesn't." A voice commented from behind John. "The student council provides it for him, on the condition that he do us the odd favor here and there."

Stepping into the small "Office" was a tall young woman with long brown hair and startlingly pale blue eyes.

"Sounds like you lost out on that deal, this blighter has done nothing but be cryptic and sarcastic since I set foot in this school." John remarked.

"Oh, I wouldn't be too hard on him, he saved my life once." The blue eyed girl said, a slight Irish lilt to her words.

"How's that then?" John blurted out.

"For about three months, I was suffering from anorexia. Most people didn't notice, or care... But Sherlock isn't most people. My cheek bones were more pronounced, the other girls thought it was a change in my make up. I bought a tray full of food at lunch, but didn't eat it, the guys thought I was on a diet. When I fell over after class and the bruise showed through in less then an hour... Sherlock confronted me, told me if I didn't start eating properly again, I would suffer permanent damage, or even die... I thought he was damn near psychic, still suspect it some days. Whatever he does to notice all the things he does, it can save lives. I thought he should do it more often." The blue eyed girl concluded, looking to the floor.

"Holy shit, so it's not just some dodgy parlor trick?" John asked, incredulous.

"So it would seem, my dear Watson." Sherlock sighed. "Now, down to the business at hand. Would you mind if I saw the picture in question, Avalon?" 

"Actually I would mind very much." Avalon huffed. "I'm not displayed very... Moderately, in this photo..."

"So you know who the person blackmailing you is?" John offered, blushing slightly.

"Yes, but the thing is... I don't know what she wants." Avalon admitted, frowning slightly.

"Well, if she did not give you a note, nor any form of demand, we can assume she wants one of two things. Leverage over someone in power, or a bargaining chip to gain something they want from you personally." Sherlock surmised quickly.

"I need to know what they want Sherlock, and it would be a hell of a lot easier for me if you could find those photos and destroy them, without looking at them!" Avalon stipulated, wearing a stern expression.

Sherlock winked at her. "Wouldn't even dream of it... Now, my colleague and I must discuss our approach on this perplexing case. Off you go!" Sherlock sung, shooing her out the door.

"Don't you want to know who the blackmailer is?" Avalon asked over her shoulder.

"Oh, I'm afraid I already know that, but you can tell me something else if you like?" Sherlock fretted shaking his head slightly.

"What would that be?" Avalon said hesitantly.

"Your number. To contact you about new information, of course." Sherlock added smoothly.

Avalon raised a single brow, it was an incredibly similar expression to the one Sherlock was so fond of. 

"You can just walk to the Student Council room. Nice meeting you John, I'll see you later sometime." Avalon pivoted sharply and strode away with uncanny grace.

"So I'm your "colleague" now am I?" John asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his shaggy fringe.

"Oh, most definitely, this is just the kind of thing you need to take your mind off those nasty bruises your father leaves on your shoulder." Sherlock remarked casually.

"H-how did you...." John began, a fearful look in his eyes, before an outburst from Sherlock interrupted his train of thought.

"THE GAME IS AFOOT MY DEAR WATSON! THERE IS NO TIME!" Sherlock announced, dashing from the room, his coat trailing behind. It would have been impressive, if Sherlock had not forgotten his pen and shuffled back into the room to pick it up.

"Right, now the game is afoot!"


End file.
